The journey of a lost brother
by PippinSupreme
Summary: Faramir’s journey through Middle-Earth all the way back to the White city of Minas Tirith. From the depths of Ithilien, to the dark streets of Osgiliath. Faramir chooses to disobey orders and fears his father’s wrath after the death of his brother.
1. The streets of Ithilien

Ithilien shone in the sunlight only the men inside were sitting there, ready to face what ever horrors might be about to face them. Among them was Faramir, Captain of the Rangers of Gondor and the only remaining son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor. Faramir's skill of his bow was matched only that of Elves. He was a commander of great moral and men were proud to serve under him. Now, Faramir stood among his men, as though he were a mere average soldier. He slouched upon his six-foot yew longbow, as though it were a staff. He gazed out towards the vast plains of Minas Morgul, not daring to guess what may come from that place.

"What do you see?" he said to his lieutenant, Damrod, who had just appeared at his side. He was a loyal man, and a good soldier Faramir knew, but Damrod had never been in the position of having to face such an overwhelming number of orcs with such a small host. Faramir's men consisted of four hundreds, two hundred and fifty of which were Gondorian warriors of Minas Trith. Faramir had also managed to obtain from his father fifty citadel guard, their plumbed barbet style helm of mithril glinting in the dying sunlight, though the size and skill of each of those soldiers was enough to strike fear into the heart of any mere band of orcs. However Faramir's finest troops were positioned in the buildings on the frontier of Minas Morgul. Ready to kill anything that moved, Faramir's one hundred rangers were his brothers of the bow and capable of killing an orc by putting an arrow through his eye at at least two hundred paces.

Damrod seemed to have decided on his answer for he shifted and said

" I see a plain which by nightfall will be filled by at least one thousand orcs. Tell me, my lord, why do you keep our men here? For there is no victory nor moral here, only the death of many innocent soldiers"

Faramir seemed to consider his companions question because, with a look of weary sorrow on his face said,

" My father orders that we hold Ithilien for it is …"

" Your father is a fool Faramir and you know it! After the death of Boromir at Amon Hen, your father's mind has been lead into disarray; He has no thought for anything but Boromir's death at the present time. Denethor may be a fool but he is not stupid, he would not gladly send four hundred men to a place he knows they will not come back from". Damrod said this with passion, even though he knew he was out of line and could be demoted if he wasn't careful

" Alas what you say is true, but there is nothing we can do, we may not be able to defeat them outright, but our rangers are skilled enough to each kill one orc with every arrow they shoot…"

Faramir suddenly stiffened and looked east over the plains of Minas Morgul. It was too dark to see but a horn was being blown. It was a horn that no man, dwarf or elf would ever blow. "Arise" Faramir said hurrying down steps and rushing though alleys to his position among his men "arise, for they come".


	2. Cruel Descions

As the light died, the steady boom of drums continued to sound in the darkness, torches began to appear on the plains, and the most fearing part, the rhythmic roar of the orcs marching. Faramir stood on the right of the largest contingent of his rangers with Damrod beside him. They all stood on the abandoned balcony of the town hall, their bow strings half drawn, only one word was necessary for them to wreak their ranged havoc.

Faramir's mouth seemed to dry out as he saw the number of orcs growing with every breath he took. At a guess there were about fifteen hundred of them, almost three times the numbers of his own men. Then again the Dark Lord did seem to go for quantity over quality but still, three times the soldiers!

" Stand fast! Let them know the taste of Gondorian arrows!". Faramir knew that his attempt to increase the moral of his rangers was futile. What was worst was the fact that his men knew this. His rangers knew what to do, they needed no more encouragement, they would do their best and nothing less. Each of them had been trained so intensely that every arrow was another orc dead, they wouldn't miss.

Then came the silence. There was no noise, not a man nor beast nor orc stirred. Suddenly there a cry from across Minas Morgul and as one the orcs moved into a run, charging towards the waiting barricade. It had begun.

As the orcs neared bow range, the rangers of Gondor, handpicked for their skill, drew their bows as one, Faramir among them. The moment came and Faramir uttered on shrill word, a word that was so loud it could be heard a mile away.

"Loose!"

As one, the long arrows left their strings and rose quickly, had their been a sun, it would have been blotted out. Then, they plunged. Arrows ripped through mail, flesh and mail again. Orcs screamed in agony as the first few rows of the enemy were completely decimated. Orcs lay already dead, speared to the ground by the long shafted arrows. But that wasn't it for the rangers, as soon as the arrow had left the string each ranger reload their weapon with speed and skill that it seemed as though it was like breathing to them. None looked to see if their arrow had hit a target. Each volley flew in perfect unison. As the arrows flew from the sky, the orcs started to learn to raise their shields to block the arrows. Faramir noticed this and decided to beat the orcs in a much easier way.

" Half company volley, other half direct!" The rangers knew that half must fire into the sky, forcing the orcs to raise their shields, while the others rammed their arrows directly into the orcs from the ground. So as half of each company formed a two-row line the first half fired their volley. It worked perfectly. As the orcs raise their shields, the second half company fired a volley straight into the unprotected fronts of the orcs. The screams of pain were terrifying. Orcs had arrows punched through their armour and were speared to their comrade behind them, only to be peppered by the arrows from the first company as each wounded orc lowered its guard. This followed a few times until the area one hundred and fifty yards away from the barricade was strewn with the bodies of the dead and mortally wounded.

But numbers proved a terrible advantage. The rangers had wiped out perhaps three hundred orcs, but now the first orcs closing into fifty yards of the rangers.

"Archers to the ledges." Rangers all moved to the ledges that had been found especially for when the fighting got close. Neat lines of men stood ready, either in the glittering garb of the Gondorian soldiers or swathed in the greens and brown of the rangers of Gondor. Faramir gave Damrod his bow and said to him

"Take command of the rangers for now, for I remain here, make sure no rangers kills one of our own men, for that will be one man too many that we can afford to loose in this fight." Damrod nodded in understanding and walked to his post. Faramir drew his sword and fell into line with the other men. This was when the fight really began.

As the orcs closed the gap, Damrod gave an order and yet another volley ripped into the orc lines. The front few lines went down with arrows in their eyes or in the middle of their forehead and Faramir felt a surge of pride for the skill of his rangers. The last few feet closed and the great crash of armour was heard. Faramir immediately swung left to avoid the blow of an orc, then ramming the sword to the hilt in the orc's belly twisting as he did so to avoid flesh suction. He ripped the blade sideways, and in the process dug the steel sword into another orc's arm, letting another man stab the orc in the chest. As the orc fell Faramir checked the position of his men. They were holding well, too well it seemed. One member of the citadel guard was taking down orc after orc with his long steel spear until he was sadly overwhelmed for he seemed to be a fine warrior. The battle raged this way and that. Faramir ducked, swung and stabbed many a time while the rangers continued to pour arrows into the orcs. Faramir dodged left and rammed his sword under the orcs armour and out his head, followed by a twist that forced the blade out. Faramir stood breathless for a few seconds when an orc lunged at him. Faramir parried the blow and swung his sword towards the orc's chest, however the orc blocked the swing and quickly lunged again. This was no mere orc; this was a captain and a good one at that. Faramir shifted his body left and swung his sword round to the right forcing the orc off balance because of the power of the tempered steel. Faramir whirled about and felt the blade's edge sink deep into the orc's waist. Even as the orc fell, several arrows fell past Faramir's ear straight into the orc's face. Faramir then checked his men's position, after seeing the horrible death of their captain, most of the orcs seemed to not want to go near him. Many orcs had perished, but there were a few glazed faces of dead men in shining armour among the orcs. Faramir continued to hack his way through the orcs when, as the rammed the hilt of his sword into the face of an orc repeatedly he heard the scream, the scream that chilled the heart of even the bravest of his men.

"The Witch-King of Agmar arrives, with him present this is a fight we cannot win. Retreat to the horses!" The men scattered. Some were hacked down as they ran, but this helped in that it saved many others because the orcs preferred the easier target. As they mounted their steeds, Faramir looked behind him, The Witch-King, perched on his fell beast, seemed to be watching Faramir from atop the town hall that had been owned by Gondor just a few minutes earlier. Faramir was brought to his senses by a shout from Damrod.

"Faramir! Let us go, if you wish your men to live!" Faramir jerked to his senses and, while upon his rearing horse said.

"Then I disobey my father's orders!" Faramir knew what Damrod said was right, he just couldn't disobey his father's orders.

"Do you wish the blood of your men to be less important than the corrupt will of your father!" Faramir thought for a moment and finally said.

"You are right, my friend, and so will I face the wrath of my father. Come, my soldiers of Gondor, let me see the meaning of haste in you. For now we ride! To Cair Adros!" With a great cheer, the remain three hundred and fifty soldiers galloped east, veering over the hills, pursued only by the jeers of the orcs left in the city.


	3. The lady of the plains

The men of Gondor rode light and swift, their capes flapping in the wind. Faramir, as always rode at the head of the company, with Damrod by his side.

"You made the right choice Faramir" Damrod muttered, "You have saved the lives of many men and killed a large number of orcs in the process"

"My tactics proved effective, though they were not just" Faramir sighed, "For I know that my father, when the time comes for me to meet with him again, shall be more angry than you can ever imagine."

"You did what you thought, and what _was_ right Faramir" Damrod said, trying to encourage his friend, believing every word he spoke himself,

"Now we ride to Cair Andros with more than five times the number of men you would have had, had you obeyed your father's instructions."

"My men may be alive, but their moral is so low that an orc has more courage than each of them. They wish to go home to their families. Already there are fifty wives who will never see the return of their husband, fifty sons and daughters who will never see the smiling face of their father again." As he said this, Faramir felt a single tear fall down his face.

The men rode over the rolling hills, galloping into the blood red sunset. Faramir called his men to halt

"We rest here tonight, 3rd company rangers, you are piquets for the night." As the men set up camp, Faramir stood on the brink of a hill and gazed back towards Ithilien, for they were now far enough away from Ithilien, and near enough to Gondor to be considered in a days gallop to the White City.

Faramir's sleep was restless and disturbed. He dreamt of an open plain, with long grass and wild flowers swaying in the breeze. There, before him was a woman, dressed all in white with a silver belt around her waist, though her back was turned away from him. Every time Faramir came close to her so as to see who he was, he woke dazed and confused. This dream continued but slowly changed. He now saw the same field, but far in the distance was Osgiliath, and atop one of the buildings, the With-King stared down upon him and uttered a heart-stopping sentence

"Here you will die under the same pain as your brother." From Osgiliath a great mass of orcs charged. Faramir woke and sat bolt upright sweating and shivering. He sat for a while and then realised it was daybreak and knew that he and his men must leave.

On they galloped speaking little; only of the battle they had fought the previous night. Eventually Damrod approached him saying,

"My lord Faramir, I have marched beside and will anywhere even to death, but take up your own position and cast off the shadowy cloak of your father's influence. Be a free man, and with that confidence you can achieve so many greater things. So please, I beg of you become who you should be and leave the man who is influenced by decisions which you know are foolish, and become a freed being and you will see how well you will flourish."

Faramir considered what Damrod said and finally sighed deeply,

"Damrod, you a loyal man, soldier and friend. But to disobey my father's rule, though it be the right thing to do, would reduce my honour to rubble. Minas Tirith, the home of the Men of Numenor and my ancestors, must be defended and I would gladly give away my own life to spare those of others to defend its glorious state"

"You honour surpasses that of any man but can you not see what poison Denethor feeds you and how atrocious it is, thinks of the lives you could save. Break free from the chains of your father that your brother long strained against and prove you are worthy of honour without the help and restriction of your father."

Faramir was about to answer when a shrill horn sounded. Faramir head at once snapped forwards and scanned the horizon. All the land seemed safe except what about behind the hill one hundred yards away. Faramir jerked his horse to the right to see what was behind the hill and sure enough, a pack of perhaps twenty warg riders, bearing the red eye of Mordor.

"Form up, Form up! Archers to the rear, infantry in front of them. We take them head on and on horseback." Fortunately all his men were able to fight on horseback and a few of his prize rangers were able to use their bows on horseback. Knowing the cover was blown the warg riders lined up so that they would have an easier attack on their enemy.

"Soldiers of Gondor, all that you hold dear to you, use that as your incentive to kill those wargs. You will your wife and family again if you break those lines. Reach Cair Andros, kill the enemy, and win us our victory! You are all trained well, fight for your wife, your children and all whom you hold dear, but most of all fight for you! Now is the hour to fulfil your pledge to our lord Denethor, now is the hour that you fight!" The men gave a cheer and began their advance. The thunder of hooves and the cheers of men were cheering enough to warm the coldest hearth of winter.

The warg riders were caught unaware by the sudden charge, but quickly spurred their mounts towards the charging men.

"Aim for the ones with throwing spears, Volley!" The whip of about ten rangers followed Faramir's cry and each spear-armed warg rider fell with an arrow or to protruding from their neck or forehead. The gap closed and the fight began. Faramir swung his sword up and over his head and crashing down into an orc, splitting his skull open. Each movement was the death of another orc. Faramir's speech had forced his men into a frenzied rage and they were seething for revenge. Faramir parried the blow of the and orc and slit the throw of his mount and then stabbed the rider.

"Ride forward! Reach Cair Andros!" The last few warg riders were being killed but the Gondorians did not stop to rest they continued towards the city that had just appeared. They galloped towards it shouting

"Cair Andros, Cair Andros"

They were safe, for the moment.


End file.
